


Hidden Down Below

by BlaiddGwyn (dragonLeighs)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dehydration, Gen, Hostage Situations, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kidnapping, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Starvation, but only for like three days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonLeighs/pseuds/BlaiddGwyn
Summary: Jaskier has been kidnapped and is being held for ransom. Admittedly things are less than ideal. Things only get worse when the bandits keeping him captive are killed and Jaskier is left tied up in the hidden cellar of an abandoned barn. His only hope is the white haired witcher who he was supposed to meet up with almost a week ago.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 250





	Hidden Down Below

The world felt like it was spinning around him. His head ached something fierce and at first he assumed he’d had a drop too much to drink the night before. After all, it wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten blackout drunk and woken up some place unfamiliar. Then the sounds around him slowly began to filter into his consciousness. Gruff voices and hoofbeats surrounded him.

He cracked open one eye only to find it was still dark. No, there was something covering his eyes. He noticed with a start that his wrists and ankles had been bound and he was gagged with some cloth shoved in his mouth and tied in place. It bit into his skin uncomfortably and it was disgustingly damp. There was the strong smell of horse and he surmised he’d been tied up and slung over the beast’s back like a sack of potatoes. That at least explained the spinning sensation.

The night before slowly came back to him in pieces. He’d been camping by himself, on his way to meet back up with Geralt now that winter was over. The bandits had emerged from the forest, wicked grins on their faces. He tried to reason with them, turning up his charm to the maximum. He’d lied about his name but they hadn’t bought it, knowing exactly who he was from the last tavern he’d played in. He’d realised then they’d tracked him for the past day, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

It wasn’t hard to imagine why they’d been after him. It was well known by now that he was Geralt’s bard. They planned to hold him for ransom. He honestly didn’t know if the witcher would come for him. Would he care enough to come for the man he always told was annoying and a nuisance. Sure, they had agreed to meet up again after winter but it was mostly due to Jaskier constantly wearing him down until he agreed. He didn’t even know if Geralt was on his way to meet him, let alone whether he would save him. They weren't due to meet for another few days, Jaskier planning to arrive a day or two early in order to hopefully make some coin playing in the tavern before they set off for their first hunt. Even if he did come, it wouldn't be for a while.

He was left to stew in his thoughts as the bandits kept riding. His chest was beginning to hurt from the constant bouncing of the horse. After what felt like hours they finally came to a stop. He heard the men dismounting, heavy boots thumping on cobblestones. He was suddenly grabbed by his doublet and yanked off the horse. He couldn’t stop himself from falling as his legs had been tied and he collided with the hard ground, jarring his shoulder as he tried to avoid landing flat on his back.

He barely had a second to recover before his blindfold was ripped away, momentarily blinding him. He blinked at the sudden light stabbing into his eyes. While he sat stunned and slightly winded from the fall one of the men cut away the rope on his ankles before tying a longer length around them. Enough to walk but not to run.

He was manhandled into standing and shoved into walking, almost falling over again. He only managed a quick glance at their surroundings as he was taken away. It appeared to be an old, abandoned farm. He was being led into a rather dilapidated barn which looked about ready to collapse. Two of the men had opened a hatch in the far corner where he was being led, surrounded by a few barrels.

There was a set of steep, rickety steps leading down into the darkness. At his hesitation he was shoved once more. “Not afraid of the dark, are ya?” one of the men said. The others laughed.

Jaskier tried to retort but the gag muffled his words. He was shoved again and almost fell down the steps before regaining his balance. “If ya don’t go on yer own, we’ll make ya,” another of the bandits, presumably the leader based on the way the others seemed to act around him, snarled at him, flashing his disgusting teeth. Not seeing any way out of this he decided to comply. It was better than being shoved down the stairs and risking a few broken bones on top of being held captive.

Once he was down, the leader and another man soon joined him. They grabbed him and forced him to the ground with his back against a supporting beam before tying another length around him to make sure he couldn’t escape. It was too tight and he could feel it restricting his breathing. He fought them the entire time, thrashing and wriggling out of their grasp. He was left exhausted and bruised after the leader hit him across the face hard enough that he saw stars, stunning him long enough for the other man to finish tying him up.

“Word had been sent to yer witcher. He’s a week to come get ya or else yer dead,” the leader said. “Ya best hope e’s as loyal to you as you are to ‘im.” With that, he and the other man climbed back up the stairs. He heard something heavy scraping across the floor above and realised they’d moved the barrels across the hatch. Even if he somehow managed to get free of the ropes, there was no way he could lift the hatch with the barrels blocking the way.

The cellar was dark, the only light coming from the cracks in the floor above. He was shaking, only partially due to the cool damp of the space. He prayed Geralt would receive the message in time and come for him.

* * *

The men only came for him twice more to bring him water and a crust of bread. It was hardly anything, but he was glad he was getting something at all. The gag would be removed and the bread would be shoved into his mouth, swiftly followed by a small cup of water. He barely had time to breath, let alone speak before the gag was replaced and the man disappeared back upstairs. The barrels would be replaced and Jaskier would once more be left in the dark with nothing but his thoughts for company. He’d initially kept the boredom away with humming but his throat had become too dry.

On what he gussed was the second day he could faintly make out the sound of hoofbeats before the bandits began shouting in alarm. There were too many horses for it to be Geralt. The sounds of battle erupted overhead, the clang of metal striking metal and pained shouts as men were injured. Only once the sounds of fighting ended did he hear an unfamiliar voice barking orders. He couldn’t make out the words, sounds muffled by distance and the thick planks above him, but the way the man spoke was different from that of any of the bandits.

He tried then to call to them for help, to let them know he was there, but his throat was dry and rough and his voice quiet behind the gag. Footsteps approached the hatch, moving at a cautions pace. Jaskier screamed as loud as he could around the gag, hoping the man would hear him. “There’s nothing here!” he shouted back to his leader. The footsteps retreated and Jaskier continued to scream, fighting against the ropes which held him in place, cursing the bandits and the man who was walking away.

He only stilled when he faintly made out the sound of the horses retreating the way they came. He sagged against his bonds, all fight leaving him. He would die down here. If Geralt didn’t hurry up, if he even came at all, he would only find his body. Tears threatened to spill over his cheeks, but he tried to hold them back, knowing he wasn’t going to get any more water any time soon.

* * *

Jaskier was starving but it was nothing compared to the all-consuming thirst he now felt. It was almost all he could thing about. His head ached and he felt dizzy. His stomach cramped and growled loudly, reminding him that the last time he ate an actual meal was easily several days ago. He’d lost count of the days at some point after falling asleep. He didn’t know how much time had passed. His arms had gone numb and his chest ached from the ropes tied too tight, binding him to the beam. The rope around his wrists had cut through his skin, causing blood to run down his hands, soaking into his trousers. The cold and damp had gotten to him too, causing him to shiver which in turn caused his chest and arms to ache more.

He’d lost all hope, head hanging low and praying unconsciousness would take him. He wanted this suffering to end. As darkness finally claimed him, the only thing that crossed his mind was the white haired witcher.

* * *

Geralt arrived at the inn two days late. He had agreed with Jaskier to meet at this inn once winter was over and had set out from Kaer Morhen with the intent of arriving on time. Unfortunately, he’d been held up by a contract for a griffin in a village on his way and as a result was later than their agreed upon date. He only hoped the bard had enough patience to wait for him.

It wasn’t something he felt comfortable sharing, his friendship with the bright, colourful man. But he couldn’t really deny himself the facts, they were friends. Over the past winter, Geralt had told his brothers back at Kaer Morhen about the bard. They’d teased him about it but ultimately let him know it was alright for witchers to have friends and that they didn't always have to work alone. He’d resolved then that he would tell Jaskier that he was in fact his friend. It was the least the other man deserved after single-handedly repairing his reputation over the past few years.

The thought of returning to the Path without the bard was not a welcome one, which was why he’d pushed Roach harder than he normally would in order to, hopefully, catch the bard before he left the inn.

He took Roach to the small stables at the side of the run-down inn. It wasn’t the nicest place they’d stayed in, but its location made it an ideal meeting place, roughly half way between Oxenfurt and Kaer Morhen. He went up to the bar, waiting for the innkeeper to notice his presence. “I need a room,” the witcher said once the man turned to face him. “Tell me, has a bard passed through here in the last few days?” he asked as the man turned to retrieve a key.

“No bards through here I’m afraid," The man said, sliding a key across the counter which Geralt exchanged for a few coins.

That was worrying news. Jaskier shouldv'e arrived a few days ago. It was unlikely he'd changed his mind about meeting up again as it had been his idea in the first place. Perhaps he had simply been caught up in something along the way and was only a few days away.

He was about to go back outside and tend to Roach when the inkeeper called after him. "You’re not Geralt of Rivia are you?”

“Yes,” he growled, pausing in the doorway. "What do you want?"

“Uh, it’s just, well there’s a letter for you. It arrived about five days ago.” He pulled a slip of paper from a shelf behind him and handed it to Geralt who had gone back to the bar.

It was a small bit of paper and looked like it had been hastily torn out of something. On the outside was written his name in scrawled letters. He unfolded it and read through the short note, dread rising in his stomach. He stuffed the note in his pocket and rushed out of the inn. He grabbed Roach from the stable, still with all her tack on as he hadn’t had a chance to remove it and headed in the direction the note directed him at a canter.

Bandits had captured Jaskier and were holding him for ransom. The note had arrived five days ago. Five days Jaskier had been held captive. The Gods only know what he'd been subjected to in that time. He hoped it wasn't anything too severe. The note mentioned an abandoned farm to the west so that was where he was heading. He kept an eye out for any sign of a trail leading to the farm. After twenty minutes he spotted it. It was overgrown but there was a clear path, the undergrowth having been flattened by horses.

He took Roach down the trail and not long afterwards he found the farm. There were several small buildings centred around a small cobblestone courtyard. As he reached the dilapidated buildings, he began to smell the unmistakable stench of death.

Bodies littered the ground, all in some state of decomposition. It was clear they’d been dead for a while. With fear sitting heavy in his stomach he dismounted and began searching for Jaskier. He desperately hoped he wasn’t amongst the dead. There were a few bodies wearing armour bearing the crest of the nearby city. Presumably the soldiers had been sent to deal with the bandits. Perhaps they had found Jaskier and freed him. But then why wouldn’t he have gone to the inn?

Once he was satisfied Jaskier wasn’t among the dead, he began searching the abandoned buildings for any sign of Jaskier’s presence. The smaller buildings proved useless so he went to the barn. A quick glance around the room told him it was also devoid of life. He could make out footprints in the dust on the ground. No doubt the bandits had used this as their main camp before being killed. He noticed there was a faint trail in the dust leading to the back wall.

He followed the several sets of footprints all the way back to the barrels piled up in the corner. He noticed there seemed to be circular areas devoid of dust. The men must have been moving the barrels around. He knelt to get a closer look and noticed there was a gap in the floorboards. A hidden hatch.

His gut instinct was telling him to move the barrels and open it up. The barrels were surprisingly heavy. He expected them to have been empty after all this time. Still, it was no hinderance for his enhanced strength, easily moving them aside to free the hatch.

He pulled it open to reveal a set of steps leading into the dark. Before venturing down, he strained his senses, listening for any hint of danger. The only thing he could hear was his own breathing. No, there was something else too, barely there. Dread making another appearance in his stomach he carefully went down into the dark.

Hidden in the far corner sat Jaskier, tied to a pillar and head hanging limply down. The only signs of life were the thready sound of his heartbeat and his breathing, coming in worryingly short and weak gasps. The witcher rushed over, already unsheathing his dagger. He cut away the ropes tying him to the wooden beam then the ones tying his ankles and his wrists. The rope came away bloody, peeling off scabs embedded in the rope and causing more blood to well up. He finally removed the gag, tied too tight and leaving the bard’s face red and raw.

He gathered him into his arms, finding he weighed worryingly little, and brought him back to the surface. He’d been down there for five days. How long had it been since the bandits had been killed? Why did the soldiers not find him? He tamped down his anger, it wouldn’t be any help now.

He took the unconscious bard to Roach, laying him carefully on the ground. He rummaged through his saddlebags before pulling out his waterskin. There wasn’t much left but Jaskier needed water now. He could get him more when they got back to the inn.

He sat behind the bard, pulling him upright so he rested against his chest. He carefully poured a small amount of water in his mouth. Jaskier reflexively swallowed and Geralt poured a little more. After the fifth small mouthful Jaskier blinked open his eyes. “Gel’t?” he rasped.

“I’m here Jaskier. Try and drink a little more for me,” the witcher said, holding the mostly empty waterskin to his cracked lips. Jaskier greedily drank the water, Geralt having to remind him to take it slow lest he make himself sick.

“You’re alright now Jaskier. I’m taking you back to the inn.” Geralt replaced the cap on the waterskin and stood, lifting Jaskier up with him. He carefully placed the bard on Roach before mounting in front of him, hoping the bard had enough presence of mind to hold on.

The ride back to the inn was slower, Geralt unwilling to push his mare more than he already had, especially with the extra weight, not that Jaskier really weighed much. Jaskier was out of immediate danger but still needed medical attention. He hoped there was a healer in the town and that he’d be able to afford their services.

He pulled Roach to a stop at the door of the inn. He’d bring her around to the stable once he was sure Jaskier was safely inside. He dismounted before pulling Jaskier down from the saddle and into his arms. The innkeeper had come outside to see what all the fuss was about by now as he had drawn a small crowd, and was stood gawping at the witcher. “Help me get him inside would you,” he growled out.

The man held open the door for them, leading them upstairs to the room Geralt had paid for earlier. “Do you want me to fetch the healer?” 

“Yes,” he bit out.

Geralt lay the bard out on the bed. He had dipped in and out of consciousness since being rescued but was currently passed out once more. He carefully removed his soiled clothes, avoiding aggravating his injuries.

It wasn’t long before middle aged woman entered the small room, carrying with her a large bag which smelt heavily of herbs. “I’m the healer of this town. What happened?” she said, placing her bag on the small table by the bed.

“He was taken by bandits five days ago,” he said, remembering what the innkeeper had told him earlier. “He was tied up and left underground. He’s not had any food or water for days since the bandits holding him were killed.”

She nodded, already preparing a few of the herbs from her bag in a mortar. “Go fetch some water. And some food too, something easy to swallow,” she ordered without looking up.

Normally he would object to being spoken to like that but with Jaskier’s life hanging in the balance, he did as he was told. When he went to the bar to ask, the innkeeper gave him a large jug of water and promised to bring up some broth later.

When he returned Jaskier had been stripped of his chemise to reveal dark bruises on his chest and arms. Parts of his skin had been covered in a thin layer of salve and his wrists had been wrapped with clean bandages. “The ropes were tied too tight,” the healer said once she’d caught the witcher staring as the bruising. “Pass the water, would you?”

He wordlessly handed her the large jug from which she poured a small amount and added a few leaves. Geralt probably could have identified them if he were paying attention. “Help him drink this,” she said.

Geralt once more sat behind the bard, holding him upright enough to take the drink the healer had prepared. Jaskier managed to swallow it by himself but remained unconscious. The healer followed it with plain water, giving him as much as she dared without making him throw it all back up.

“He should make a full recovery. Leave the salve on for an hour or so. Don’t let him do anything too strenuous and make sure he eats something,” she said, beginning to pack her things back into her bag. Geralt moved Jaskier off him to stand, carefully laying him back on the pillow. He untied his coin pouch, taking out a few and handing them to the healer. She counted them and seemed satisfied by the amount. “Good day, witcher.” With that, she left the small room, closing the door behind her.

Geralt simply stood in place, staring down at his friend. Time escaped him until there was a knock at the door. He opened it to find a girl holding a steaming bowl. “Broth?” she practically squeaked at the witcher towering over her. Geralt took it from her without a word. “You horse has been taken to the stable sir, but you’ll have to see to her yourself. We don’t have a stable hand around here.”

Geralt only hummed. He was about to close the door when he thought of something. “Would it be possible to get a bath?”

“It’s extra.”

Geralt hummed again before telling her to bring it in an hour and closing the door. He set the broth down on the table before trying to rouse the bard. He gently shook his shoulder a few times before the bard’s eyes eventually fluttered open. “There’s broth for you.”

Jaskier didn’t say anything which the witcher found disconcerting but he did seem to become slightly more awake. He helped Jaskier into a more upright position against the wall, propping him up on the lumpy pillows. He took the broth and held up a spoonful for the bard, knowing he would only succeed in spilling it on himself if he were left to his own devices. He opened his mouth and allowed the witcher to spoon feed him. Almost all of the broth was gone by the time Jaskier finally said something. “Where are we?”

“The inn where we were going to meet,” he said, holding up another spoonful.

“The bandits… in the barn…” His voice was weak, something Geralt had never heard before, nor wanted to ever again.

“They’re all dead.”

“I know… they left me.”

“I found you. I would have gotten here sooner if it weren’t for that gods damned griffin.”

“Griffin? Are you hurt?” he said, concern obvious in his expression.

“You get kidnapped and held for ransom, almost die of dehydration, and ask me how _I_ am?

“You don’t look after yourself.”

Geralt was silent for a moment. The bard had a point, although his attitudes towards himself had changed somewhat since the bard came along. He was no longer quite as reckless with his injuries, taking the time to treat them properly, or at least allow the bard to take care of them. “I’m fine. How do you feel?”

“Fucking exhausted. My chest hurts.”

“Try to get some sleep now. You’ll feel better.”

Jaskier only nodded, his eyes already closing and soon he was asleep once more. Geralt repositioned him so he was lying down before leaving the room to go see to Roach.

* * *

Jaskier woke slowly. He thought someone was calling his name but couldn’t be sure. Besides, none of the bandits were alive to talk to him anymore. Still, the voice seemed insistent and was eventually accompanied by a warm hand on his shoulder. He cracked open his eyes to see Geralt of all people standing over him. “Jaskier?”

Jaskier tried to speak but only managed a groan. Before he knew it, he was being sat upright and a cup of water was being pressed to his lips. He took a few sips before attempting to speak again. “You came.” It ended up sounding like a question more than a statement.

“Of course. Don’t you remember?” he said, placing the cup to the side.

Jaskier honestly couldn’t say he did, the last few days had been hazy from lack of food, water or proper sleep. He could vaguely recall being outside but that was about all. 

“The bandits had been killed. Whoever came obviously missed where they’d hidden you.”

“But you found me?”

“Only because I knew you were missing. I only got here this afternoon otherwise I swear to you I would have found you sooner.” Jaskier could see the guilt written on the witcher’s face.

“S’not your fault. Wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t come.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt broke off, horrified that he thought he would abandon him. “I will always find you Jaskier, you’re my friend.”

Jaskier looked somewhat stunned and Geralt belatedly realised it was the first time he had actually called Jaskier his friend. “Friend?”

“Yes, you are my friend and no matter how much you may annoy me, I enjoy you company. I will always help you out if you’re in trouble or hurt.” He let his words sink in, partially for Jaskier and also for himself. It was the first time he admitted his feelings for the bard out loud. Not even his brothers had heard him talk about the bard in such a way. “I erm… ordered a bath for you. It’s ready,” he said after neither said anything more, finding himself suddenly embarrassed.

This seemed to snap Jaskier back from wherever he had disappeared to in his mind. Geralt helped him out of his remaining clothes before he carefully lifted him up and settled him in the bath. Jaskier let out an almost indecent groan at the warm water. Geralt had made sure he had a bar of soap close to hand, but the bard had neither the strength nor energy to properly clean himself.

Wordlessly Geralt situated himself by the bath and scooped some of the water into Jaskier’s hair. He took the soap from the bard’s weak grip, lathering it up in his hands before working it into his hair. He felt Jaskier relax beneath his hands as he massaged his scalp. Jaskier had taken the soap from him and was currently washing his chest, ridding himself of days worth of sweat and dirt as well as the dried on salve, being careful of the extensive bruising all the while. The bandages on his wrists had become damp already, despite Jaskier’s best efforts to keep them out of the water. Geralt knew they needed to be changed anyway. He doubted the healer had been able to properly clean the wounds.

He rinsed off the bard’s hair, making sure it was free of soap, before leaving the bard to take care of the rest of himself. He rummaged through his bag and found a clean set of clothes. They would be too big for the bard but at least he would have something to wear until he either found his bag or he bought new ones. While he had been back at the farm, he hadn’t found any trace of Jaskier’s possessions, including his precious lute. Presumably all his stuff had been left wherever he had been taken. Hopefully Jaskier could remember where that had been, and he could retrieve it.

Geralt let Jaskier relax in the tub once he was done washing until the water was getting cool and he was clearly beginning to fall asleep again. He helped him up and wrapped him in a towel before presenting the clothes. Jaskier managed to dress himself before being helped back into bed. It wasn’t long before Jaskier was asleep once more.

Geralt removed the bandages, already beginning to come loose from the water. He carefully dried the abused skin and applied some of the healing salve he carried in his bag before rewrapping the wounds in clean bandages. None of his injuries were particularly severe, even his wrists may heal without scarring if he was lucky. It was simply the dehydration and the beginnings of starvation which posed the biggest threat.

Geralt had enough coin to pay for the next few days at the inn as well as food. By the time they needed to move on, Jaskier would be well enough to travel again, even if it was on Roach’s back. He would make sure the bard made a full recovery and do everything in his power to ensure nothing like this ever happened to him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on [tumblr!](https://blaidd-gwyn.tumblr.com/)


End file.
